[A memory that, in spite of all the hardship that inevitably awaits them once the sun comes up, she will hold onto and keep safe from the passage of time.
He leads her out to the moonlit path, and roses bloom in her wake—red and white, some yellow, some pink, but all of them stretching their petals open to the light of the moon, and quivering in the soft, warm wind that brushes through.
The music is nothing more than a distant ring here, drowned out too by the sound of her heart beating wildly in her ears, and the blood rushing through her veins with anticipation and fear that, without her mask, he'll be able to see clearly as she positions herself. Not for a waltz, but her arm wraps around his neck so that she can keep herself as close as possible while they sway to the faraway music.
But it's fine. Neither of them needed the waltz to guide their steps.
Instead, Tifa begins to hum a melody that he might be familiar with for them.]
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He leads her out to the moonlit path, and roses bloom in her wake—red and white, some yellow, some pink, but all of them stretching their petals open to the light of the moon, and quivering in the soft, warm wind that brushes through.
The music is nothing more than a distant ring here, drowned out too by the sound of her heart beating wildly in her ears, and the blood rushing through her veins with anticipation and fear that, without her mask, he'll be able to see clearly as she positions herself. Not for a waltz, but her arm wraps around his neck so that she can keep herself as close as possible while they sway to the faraway music.
But it's fine. Neither of them needed the waltz to guide their steps.
Instead, Tifa begins to hum a melody that he might be familiar with for them.]